


Lonesome Road

by flowerfan



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, First Meeting, Happy Ending, Hitchhiker!Bitty, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past sexual assault/rape, Truckdriver!Jack, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-09 19:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11675649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: After rehab, Jack leaves home, unable to face his parents and the legacy he failed to uphold. He gets work as a truck driver and enjoys the relative solitude of it for a few years, until the day he picks up a hitch-hiking runaway from Georgia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [the_one_that_fell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell) in the [OMGCP_Heartbreak_Fest_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/OMGCP_Heartbreak_Fest_2017) collection. 



> Please note that this story is, as the challenge calls for, full of angst. Warnings for discussion of past overdose, past sexual assault, threatened sexual assault, past non-con, possible dub-con, implied depression, slurs, addiction, homelessness, homophobia. Feel free to ask a question in the comments (since the story is anonymous for now) if you have questions about the content that you would like to ask before you read the story.
> 
> The title comes from the James Taylor song "Down That Lonesome Road." Give it a listen if you don't know it - the mood fits the story perfectly, you can almost hear it playing in the background as Jack drives, alone, on the highway...
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta, perry_avenue!

There's a hockey game playing on the television screen over the bar. Jack turns and leaves before the hostess even has a chance to ask how many there are in his party (one, of course, as always). He doesn't watch hockey.

Jack walks down the street, wondering if he can get some good fried chicken somewhere. This small southern town has a diner that serves up some pretty decent food, if he's remembering it correctly. Although he might not be. He's been through a lot of little towns in the past few years, and they tend to blend together after a while.

He finds a diner on the next corner, and slides into a seat at the counter between a middle aged couple and a gray haired man. He orders the buttermilk chicken tender special, with a side salad and an iced tea. As Jack sips the tea, enjoying the sugary sweetness, he listens to the couple banter fondly about whether to go to the movie as they had intended, or just go home for some alone time while the kids are with the grandparents. The older man next to him is texting on his phone, smiling, and then he presses a number and proceeds to tell someone all about his day.

Jack tunes them out when his food comes and tries to concentrate on enjoying what he can. Even he's entitled to that, he thinks. 

Jack doesn't linger, and as soon as he gets his check he goes over to wait in line at the cashier. There's a commotion at the end of the counter, and he looks up to see a slight figure in a dark blue hoodie apologizing and swiping paper napkins at a puddle of coffee. The waitress looks annoyed and is mumbling about taking up space all night. The boy stands abruptly, shoulders hunched, and scrambles in his pockets, pulling out a crumpled five dollar bill, which he thrusts at the waitress before high-tailing it out of the restaurant.

There's something troubling about the exchange, the hopeless look on the boy's face, but before Jack can think too hard about it, the cashier gets his attention and he focuses on paying his bill.

Later that night, tossing in a creaky hotel bed, Jack thinks of the boy from the diner. He had blond hair peeking out from under his hoodie, and shining big brown eyes. Jack wonders what it would be like to take him out to dinner, and bicker fondly over whether to see a movie or go home and cuddle on the couch. To send him a text that makes him smile.

He flips over in the bed and tells himself to go the fuck to sleep. That's not his life. Jack Zimmermann's life is driving, and making deliveries, and eating by himself in small town diners. That's all he's done for the past two years, and it's not about to change anytime soon. 

He's in his truck the next morning, heading out of town towards the highway, when a hitchhiker in a dark blue hoodie catches his attention. Jack brakes before he even sees the boy's face, because he knows immediately that it's him.

The boy scurries to catch up. Jack rolls the side window down, and a variety of socially acceptable greetings run through his head, but nothing comes out.

The boy speaks up. "Um, hi. Can you give me a ride? I mean, I suppose that's why you stopped, but, well, it is, right? I'd sure appreciate it."

Jack blinks at him and nods, brain finally coming online. "Yeah, get in."

The boy pulls himself up - he's even shorter than Jack had realized, and slender, legs stick thin in his skinny jeans - and begins an introduction that Jack quickly loses track of, something about seeing the world, and long lost cousins, and family reunions. But he's only got a ratty backpack for luggage, and his hoodie is as dirty as his sneakers.

Jack shoves open the console between them and holds out a protein bar. "Breakfast?"

This cuts off the boy's ramble. "Oh - thank you, but no, I already ate."

From the looks of him Jack thinks this is extremely unlikely. "You sure? These ones are really good."

The boy huffs. "Protein bars are never really good."

Ah ha, Jack thinks, gotcha. "Well, try this one. It's different. I'll bet you’ll change your mind."

In fact the protein bar is just as dull and cardboard-like as most, but the boy rolls his eyes and takes it from Jack.

"Fine. If you insist."

They drive in silence as the boy chews, and it occurs to Jack that he has no idea where the boy needs to go. In all his effort to explain himself, he hadn't so much as said which direction he was headed.

Kind of like he just wanted to get out, and any direction would do.

Jack pulls off the road around lunchtime, startling the boy out of his doze. He usually doesn't stop for a sit down lunch, but today he's making an exception. 

The boy's hood has pushed back off his head, and he rubs his eyes.

"Tired?"

The boy looks warily at Jack, as if this is far too personal a question. "No." He looks around. "Why are we stopped?"

"I thought we'd have lunch."

The boy slides down in the seat. "I'll wait here."

Jack tries to get him to change his mind but the boy won't budge. And so Jack eats alone, again.

Back on the road, the boy grows bored of napping, and fiddles with the radio. An upbeat tune seems to please him, and he listens for a few minutes before frowning and turning it off.

He's a mystery, this kid. 

"You know, you never told me your name."

The boy looks alarmed. "Well, you never told me yours."

"I'm Jack."

The boy frowns, and his eyes dart around the truck. Jack half expects that he'll make up a name based on whatever his eyes land on - Ford, maybe, or Dash. But instead he lets out a sigh. "I don't really want to hear my name anymore. Is that crazy?"

Jack shrugs. "Suppose it depends how come."

"I just hear my dad saying it. And, you know, not in a nice way."

Jack feels a pang in his chest. "Well, do you have any nicknames?"

There's a pause. "Not good ones." The boy leans his head against the window, and Jack lets it go. 

Jack drives until evening, and finds another crummy motel where he can stop for the night.

"You stop a lot for a truck driver," the boy says, as he climbs down from the cab.

"You know a lot of truck drivers?" Jack asks dryly. He walks towards the office, expecting the boy to follow, but when he's done checking in he sees that he's returned to the passenger seat.

Jack jogs over. "Come on, I'm gonna order pizza. I'm starving." He opens the door to let him out, but the boy shrinks away from him.

"Thank you kindly, but if it's all the same to you, I'll stay here."

"That's ridiculous, come on," Jack reaches out but the boy grabs his backpack and ducks under his arm and out of the truck.

"I've actually got to keep moving, but thanks for the ride." The boy walks towards the road, thumb optimistically out. Jack stares at him, dumbfounded, and then trails after him.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

The boy shakes his head, scrubs the sleeve of his hoodie across his face, and then sticks out his thumb again, his arm trembling as he holds it out.

He's terrified, Jack thinks. And he hasn't eaten anything but a protein bar all day.

"Look, to be honest, I'd really appreciate it if you didn't leave yet. I've been eating by myself for weeks, and it's getting old."

The boy glances up at him, and Jack goes on.

"Just stay and have dinner with me, yeah? After dinner, if you really need to keep going, I won't stop you."

The boy lets his arm fall to his side. "I can't afford much."

"My treat. Since it's my idea."

They go into the restaurant, hardly more than a snack bar, and eat pizza off paper plates. Halfway through his third slice, the boy looks up at Jack.

"It's Eric. Eric Bittle."

Jack takes a long sip of his soda, and then nods. "Bitty, then."

"What?"

"Your nickname. Bitty."

The boy smiles softly, and it's just a hint of sunshine, but Jack's heart throbs inside his chest. "I like it." He eats a few more bites, the smile continuing to lighten his face. "How'd you think of it?"

"Used to have to think of names for my teammates all the time. Everyone has nicknames in hockey."

"Oh, you play hockey?"

And just like that, the lightness that Jack has been feeling for the past little while is gone. "Not anymore."

Bitty practically recoils at Jack's tone, but Jack can't find it in himself to care. He had tried to do a nice thing for this kid, tried to act like a normal person might, but in the end it always comes back to Jack's trashed career and his propensity for failure.

Bitty finishes his pizza and mumbles something about sleeping in the truck, and while Jack knows he should stop him and insist that he come back to the room, he doesn't. He's spent more hours with Bitty today than he's spent with any other human in the past few months, and frankly, he could use a break.

It's nearing midnight when there's a sharp knock on the motel room door. Jack mutes the documentary he's watching on the Battle of New Orleans and goes to answer it. He sees Bitty through the peephole, and he quickly lets him in.

"Jack, could I just - I'm so sorry to disturb you, if I could just come in for a few minutes, I need-"

Bitty is babbling, looking back over his shoulder, his arms tightly wrapped around his body.

"Of course, it's fine." Jack looks out into the parking lot, but doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. "Are you okay?"

Bitty is standing against the wall next to the door, showing no sign of coming further into the room.

"I'm fine, I'll leave soon, after they - just - go back to what you were doing. Pretend I'm not here."

Bitty's not fine. He's shaking, and the phrase "sit down before you fall down" seems to clearly apply.

Jack slides the desk chair over next to Bitty, who automatically sits down, but he doesn't relax. 

"Bitty, what happened?"

"Nothing."

Jack raises an eyebrow, and Bitty glares at him. 

"I don't owe you anything. Just because you bought me dinner, it doesn't mean I owe you anything."

Jack is baffled but he takes in a deep breath and tries to channel his mom. She always knew how to talk to him when he was upset.

"I'm not saying you do. I'm just worried about you."

Tears form in Bitty's eyes and he presses a hand to his face. "Don't. It's not worth it."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," Jack says softly. A minute goes by, and then another, and Jack is beginning to wonder if he's going to spend the rest of the night sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for Bitty to talk to him. 

But then Bitty slumps down, elbows on his knees, and starts to talk. "There was a group of guys drinking outside the restaurant. Three sheets to the wind. One of them, a big guy with a bushy beard, saw me in the truck and decided to have some fun, that's all."

Jack feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and has to resist the urge to throw the door open and look around.

"What did they do, Bittle?"

He shrugs his narrow shoulders. "Just talk. Picking on the little guy. Nothing new." Jack can tell Bitty is trying to be nonchalant about it, but he's not really succeeding.

"Then what?"

Another shrug. "They went away."

This hardly explains Bitty showing up terrified at Jack's door. "Just like that, eh?"

Silence.

"Bittle, can I show you something?" Without waiting for an answer, or giving himself a chance to talk himself out of it, Jack takes off his t-shirt. He points to a narrow scar that starts low on his stomach and twists around his side, angling up his back.

Bitty's eyes are wide, and he blinks hard and averts his eyes when Jack looks at him.

"During one of my last few games in juniors, someone on the other team started shit-talking one of my line mates. Gloves came off, nothing unusual. Until they said I was only defending K-" he breaks off, barely catching himself before saying Kent's name, "my teammate- 'cause I was a fag. 'Cause I was fucking him. It caught me by surprise. There'd been some talk before, but I didn't think people actually knew. And they probably didn't. At the moment, though, I was so hyped up, I just said something like 'so what' - and then all hell broke loose."

"I don't actually remember much about the night after that. They beat the crap out of me, kicked me with their skates… I was petrified that I'd just outed myself, and my teammate, too. It was one of the worst times of my life." And within a week, it led to the very worst time of his life.

"Jack..." Bitty breathes out, eyes wide and sorrowful. "I... I didn't know."

"Yeah, well." Jack stands up and paces, nervous energy suddenly running through him. "Guess I'm just trying to say - if those guys were harassing you, I know what it's like."

Bitty's face pales.

"Come on, you really think I'd give you shit for being gay after what I just told you? Give me some credit." 

"Never said I was gay."

"Fine. You gonna tell me what those guys did to you, or should I just assume they were asking you to tea?"

"Why can't you just leave it alone?"

Jack's angry now. He can't understand why this is so hard for Bittle to understand. "Maybe I'd like to know what the fuck we're dealing with, when they come knocking on my door. Maybe I'm not thrilled at the thought of going up against a gang of truckers. Maybe I'd like to know what to tell the police when they find us beaten up behind the dumpsters."

"Police won't care."

Jack opens his mouth to argue some more, but Bitty cuts him off.

"They implied I was a prostitute, ok? Used a less polite word for it. Said they wanted a turn after they finished playing pool. That they'd be back to engage my services in an hour or so, and that I'd better be ready."

Jack feels like he's about to faint. "You're serious."

Bitty nods. "I ran over here soon as they went inside the restaurant. Didn't want to wait and see if they meant it, or if they would settle for just a good ol’ beating. Had enough of that, thank you very much."

Jack thinks of this tiny, frail boy, at the mercy of three or four huge men. He feels sick. "We should leave. Find a different place to stay tonight."

"No - they said they'd be watching the truck. I - I can't go out there again. Please."

Jack can feel how hard he's clenching his fists. In some ways hockey was easy. When someone pissed you off, you just punched them, with your whole team at your back.

"Get off the chair."

Bitty complies, and watches wide-eyed as Jack tilts the chair and wedges it under the door knob. 

"Can I at least call the police, let them know?"

Bitty's glare returns. "I won’t stay if you do. I’m not going to be a sitting duck for the police too. They’ll probably just come over and watch."

"Bitty..."

"This is why I didn't want to tell you. It's like I said. I'm not worth the trouble."

Jack's brain unhelpfully informs him that this is definitely more trouble than Jack cares to deal with. "Well, you're here now."

"Thanks," Bitty says bitterly, and Jack barks out a laugh. "What?"

"Make up your mind," Jack says. "Do you want me to be mad that you're here or not?"

Bitty doesn't answer, just digs his face into the shoulder of his dirty hoodie, and Jack feels a wave of exhaustion flow over him.

"Hey," he says, trying to gentle his tone, "why don't you take a hot shower, change into some clean clothes? You'll feel better." Smell better, too, Jack thinks.

"Don't have any other clothes," Bitty says, his voice small.

"You can wear some of mine."

Bitty laughs but there's no joy in it. "Don't think they'll fit."

Jack pulls a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt out of his duffel and hands them to Bitty. "They're clean. We can take your stuff to the laundromat tomorrow morning before we head out."

"Not in much of a hurry, are you?" Bitty says, but he clutches the clothes to his chest as he walks to the bathroom. “I still don’t get what kind of trucker you are.”

"I'll tell you about it over breakfast."

Jack is surprised that Bitty doesn't fight his suggestion of a shower. He emerges later, hair wet and clad in Jack's extremely large clothes, and immediately crawls into bed and falls asleep. He's beautiful, Jack thinks, despite the dark bags under his eyes. 

Jack, in the other bed, stays awake. Every so often he peeks through the curtains, looking out at the deserted parking lot. Finally, just after two a.m., he hears raised voices. A group of extremely inebriated men are circling his truck, spouting profanities. One man climbs on and tries to see into the cab.

"Little cock-sucker's not here," he yells. "Fucker! Where'd you go?"

Jack freezes as the man spins around, looking for Bittle. But he's far too drunk to think rationally about the situation, and he soon follows his friends into a red pick-up that has seen better days. When they finally leave, wheels throwing gravel, Jack breathes a long sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

Jack turns and sees Bitty, sitting up in bed. Apparently not asleep. 

"For what?"

Bitty gives him a look, as if to say "for everything, you dumbass." "For making sure they were gone," Bitty finally says.

"Oh. Yeah."

Bitty slides back under the covers, still watching Jack. "You ever going to sleep?"

Jack turns off the light and then realizes he still hasn't changed out of his clothes. By the time he finds his sleep pants in the dark and brushes his teeth, he figures Bitty has conked out for the night. So it surprises him when he hears a soft "good night, Jack," from the other side of the room. It's a nice surprise.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning they're both quiet as they head to breakfast. Jack knows the adrenaline rush of the night before has caught up to him. He figures Bitty must be pretty wiped, too, especially when he doesn't argue about Jack paying for a breakfast special for each of them - three eggs, sausage, bacon, and a short stack of pancakes. Jack eats it all, skipping the awful table syrup and mechanically placing forkful after forkful in his mouth. There was a while there when his meds caused him to lose his appetite completely, and he's gotten used to making sure he keeps himself fed.

Jack watches what Bitty eats, too. The boy is as thin as a rail. But he eats all the food set in front of him, which soothes something in Jack.

"When were you last home?" Jack asks, after Bitty has finished telling him a half-hearted story about how his elementary school librarian claimed she always wanted to be a truck driver.

Bitty presses his lips together, but then answers matter of factly as he cuts himself another bite of pancake. "Day after graduation. About..." he closes his eyes for a moment, calculating. "Four weeks ago."

"That's a long time to be on your own."

"Stayed a few days with a classmate. But word got out."

"Your parents...?"

"Kicked me out when the football team told Coach - my father - that they'd boycott the graduation party if I was allowed to be there. Given who I am."

Jack stills his hand, grips his fork tighter. "The football team outed you to your parents?"

"Nice, right?"

"But - how could they keep you from going to the graduation party? That's ridiculous."

"Principal Warren agreed. Told my parents it was a shame, but it would send the wrong message, letting someone like me celebrate with all the other kids."

Jack is so angry, he feels his voice drop lower. "That's bullshit."

Bitty shrugs, and picks up his glass of orange juice. "Actually it sounded just right to my parents. I think Coach was relieved to have someone else weigh in on it. Made it easier for him to say goodbye."

"They didn't even let you take anything?"

Bitty looks confused for a minute, then shakes his head. "Oh - my backpack. No, I had my hockey bag full of clothes, too, but it got stolen."

Now it's Jack's turn to be confused, and he follows up on the less disturbing part of Bitty's sentence. "You play hockey?"

Bitty gives him a mischievous smile, and again, the tiniest hint of happiness from this boy makes Jack's heart sing. "Did I not mention that earlier?"

"No, you did not."

Jack focuses on that little smile, and the crinkle by Bitty's eyes, and forces himself to calm down as they turn the conversation to less hateful topics.

After breakfast they pack up and get into the truck. Bitty searches on his phone for the nearest laundromat, and soon a washer is chugging away, Bitty's smaller clothes going round and round with Jack's larger ones.

"So, you just graduated...?"

"High school, yes," Bitty says with a sigh. "And at least I'm eighteen, so I don't have to worry about social services throwing me into some home. You know that doesn't work out well for gay kids." Bitty bites his lip and turns away. He's not used to referring to himself as gay, Jack realizes.

"I knew I was gay when I was fifteen," Jack says, after taking a quick look around to make sure no one is listening. "Well, bi, really. Wasn't really sure until later."

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty. I'll be twenty-one in August." 

"I think I've known for a long time," Bitty says after a pause. "Just didn't want to admit it."

Jack's felt like a failure for a long time. He's had years to get used to it. But while the ache of losing his hockey career has barely faded, at least he doesn't spend too much time worrying about his sexuality. His parents couldn't care less, and hardly anyone else knows - or if they do, they're not talking. He doesn't know what he would have done if after everything, his parents rejected him for not being straight. Probably would have found a way to get his hands on more pills.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Bittle."

Bitty frowns, and then looks up at Jack, a sparkle in his tired brown eyes. "My pants are a tad too long, but other than that, I completely agree."

Hours later, the monotony of the drive pressing down on them, Bitty starts poking around the cab. He finds a book about World War II, and asks Jack about it.

"I like history."

There's another one, a survey of French-Canadian politics, and Bitty mangles the author's name.

Jack laughs.

"Guess my high school French didn't pan out."

“Apparemment pas.”

"Jack - are you French?"

"I'm from Montreal."

"Huh." Bitty finds a three ring binder filled with pamphlets and forms. "What's this?"

Jack takes a quick look, then returns his eyes to the road. "Materials for the job."

"You never did tell me what kind of trucker you were," Bitty says. "Although I stick to my original theory - you're not the usual kind."

Jack grins. He's never been the usual kind of anything, Bitty's right on that point. "My uncle hired me. He sells high end custom wood furniture. Part of the service he provides is having me pick up the pieces from the artists and deliver them directly to customers' homes. There's a lot of flexibility - it's not as if a dining room table will spoil if it arrives a day late."

Bitty fishes a museum directory out of a side pocket. "Time for field trips?"

Jack shrugs. "I take a day off every once in a while. No one cares."

"Sounds lonely."

Bitty's words make Jack's chest ache, but he waves him off. "I like it."

"How'd you get into it?"

It’s not really news, what happened to him. "After rehab I didn't have a lot of options. Was too depressed to put a lot of effort into what I wanted to do next, and this kind of fell into my lap."

Bitty starts to speak, and then his mouth snaps shut. "Oh my lord," he says after a long moment, his voice breathless, "you're Jack Zimmermann."

 _Bitty hadn’t known._ Jack can feel his heart start to race. No matter how many times it happens, it still humiliates him, that look of pity when someone figures it out. That Jack was _that_ guy, with all the promise, who threw his entire life down the drain. His face burns with embarrassment.

"Hey." There's a hand on his arm, and Bitty is leaning closer to him. "Hey, I'm sorry. That was terribly rude of me."

"It's not rude. It's my name, after all," Jack forces out.

"No, really. You've been so kind to me, and I had no idea... No wonder you're so strong. To have gone through something like that, and come out the other side."

"I'm not strong."

"I won't presume to know your story, Jack. But I've seen up close the toll addiction can take on people. Lord knows there's enough of it in my family. I've seen how hard people can fight it, and still not beat it. And yet here you are, healthy and happy and going out of your way to help a miserable little shit like me." Bitty's southern accent seems to grow with the force of his words, and he rubs his hand down Jack's arm as he speaks. "That takes a whole lotta strength, and courage. Don't you forget it."

It's too much. Jack finds himself pulling over onto the side of the road and burying his head in his hands. It has been hard, and lonely, and he can still barely stand to look at himself in the mirror. And yet here he is, with this beautiful boy praising him. He feels like his insides are going to burst out of his chest.

"Hush now, you're okay." Bitty rubs his back in gentle circles. "You're okay."

Jack lets the sweet sound of Bitty's voice wash over him, and cries.

When he starts to settle down, Bitty hands him a tissue.

"Wish I could make you a pie."

"What?" Jack sniffles and blows his nose.

"A pie. Peach, maybe, or apple." Bitty gives Jack's shoulder a final squeeze, and then lets go. "I bake. Especially when I'm sad, or when someone I care about is sad. Moo-maw always said a good slice of pie can do wonders to take your mind off your problems."

Jack ponders this for a minute. "A lot of diners sell pie," he says, grateful to have something to talk about besides his own sorry life.

"Not like mine."

Jack smiles despite himself. "Well, get out your phone and start searching. Maybe we can find a place that lives up to your standards."

They put the waitress at Lucy's Pie Diner through her paces that night, tasting four different pies and quizzing her on their ingredients. Finally the owner comes out with two slices of a fifth pie in her hands, and places it reverently down on the table. "Banana cream," she says, "with a layer of dark chocolate. Reserved for special guests."

Jack and Bitty each take a generous forkful, and Bitty is dishing out compliments before Jack has even finished swallowing. He sits quietly, admiring how Bitty makes the woman beam, and how knowledgeable he is about everything pie-related. The owner is impressed, too, and she pulls up a chair to listen attentively as Bitty describes how to bring out the flavor of a less than perfect peach. Jack doesn't realize he's staring until the owner excuses herself and Bitty pokes his hand with his fork.

"Do I have whipped cream in my hair? Or have you just fallen into a sugar coma?"

"Sorry. Just, um, enjoying... The pie."

Bitty glances at Jack's plate, on which not a crumb of food remains. He meets Jack's eyes, and a pink blush rises in his cheeks. "Oh."

Later, when they are both tucked up in their respective beds, Jack wishes he had the guts to take a photograph of Bitty. He never wants to forget him, or the way he makes him feel. Like maybe life might be worth living again.

"Bitty?"

"Yeah?"

"You were right. Pie was just the thing."

"It was?"

"It was."

*****

If Jack is learning anything about Bitty, it's that his moods are as changeable as summer weather. The next morning he endures Bitty's wrath when he pulls up to a small department store and suggests that Bitty pick out a few basics. He knows Bitty must be tired of wearing the same undershirt, hoodie and worn pair of jeans every day, not to mention his single pair of underwear. 

Before Bitty can get up a full head of steam, Jack puts up his hand. "Don't worry, you can pay me back."

"I don't have any-" Bitty looks around the store, annoyed, and lowers his voice. "You know I don't have any money," he hisses.

"But you will."

"You know something about the lottery you ain't telling me?"

"I've got a string of deliveries to make over the next few days. I pay my helpers $15 an hour. More, if we need to do any assembly work, or touch up the finish on the pieces."

Bitty frowns. "You're not just saying that?"

"You can check out the list of contractors in my binder."

This seems to satisfy Bitty, but Jack can't help himself.

"Of course, I don't hire just anyone. And you're not that big a guy-"

"Jack Zimmermann, I can carry your fancy furniture just fine. The nerve of you." Bitty stalks off, but is quickly sidetracked by a table full of colorful polo shirts. He doesn't pick any up, though. After a careful perusal of his options, Bitty selects three plain t-shirts in gray, forest green and navy, two pairs of khaki shorts, and a package each of boxers and socks.

On their way to the cash register, Jack grabs two canary yellow polos, one size large, one size small.

"What are those for?"

"Company uniform."

Bitty can't hide his grin, and Jack cheers internally. For once, he did something right.

Jack wasn't lying about his deliveries. His uncle has a host of steady customers in the Chicago area, and they spend four long days carrying cherry credenzas and buffet tables, carved mahogany chairs, and shining dining sets in maple and oak. By the end of it, Bitty has earned a decent paycheck, and Jack is reeling with the constant hum of Bitty's ever more welcome presence.

That night, over deep dish pizza, Bitty counts his money and smiles. With Bitty along, both of them received higher tips than Jack ever has before, as Bitty easily charmed every customer along the way.

Jack gives up trying to stuff their empty take-out box into the too-small trash can in their motel room and is just about to take it out to the curb when Bitty speaks, his voice tinged with something Jack doesn't recognize.

"You never asked me where I was going."

Jack turns. Bitty is standing at the foot of his bed, hands clutched together in front of him.

"That's what you do, when you pick up a hitchhiker. You ask where they are going, and let them know how far you can take them. But you never asked."

Jack's mouth feels dry. "You never asked me where I was going either."

"Why didn't you ask, Jack?"

Jack places the cardboard box on the floor. He wants to put some space between himself and Bitty, but there's no room for that.

"What do you want me to say?" He's trying to choose his words carefully, but he can feel his emotions welling up inside and he knows he can't hold them in. "That I knew you didn't have anywhere to go? That I thought you might just stay for a while, if I didn't screw it up, and didn't bring up the subject of what the hell we were doing? That you are the most beautiful person I've ever met, and I've spent every night praying you won't leave in the morning?"

"Don't tease me," Bitty says, pained. 

"I'm not teasing you, Bits. I'd never lie about something like this."

"I'm not - what you said. I'm not." Bitty says this like it's fact, not up for dispute. But Jack knows he's wrong, and he's overcome with the need to make Bitty see it.

Jack steps closer to Bitty. He's got a stunned expression on his face, but as Jack approaches, something like hope dawns in his eyes. Jack slowly raises his hands to Bitty's face, leans in, and kisses him.

Bitty's lips are warm and slightly chapped, and he kisses back, tentatively at first and then harder, his hands gripping Jack's forearms. When Jack pulls back, Bitty's face is flushed.

Jack knows he's about to say something indescribably sappy. But before the words leave his mouth Bitty abruptly spins away from him and runs out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Jack's stomach drops. He's afraid, for a moment, that he's going to vomit. Once again, Jack Zimmermann has pulled defeat from the jaws of victory. His gut clenches again and he runs to the bathroom, just in time to spew barely digested pizza into the toilet.

He lingers by the sink, letting himself hope that Bitty will be there when he comes out. Maybe he was just caught off guard, or momentarily overwhelmed, not offended, or disgusted. But when Jack cleans himself up and comes back out into the room, Bitty still hasn't returned. 

Jack takes deep breaths and tries to analyze the situation logically. Bitty's backpack is still on the floor by his bed, so he probably will return eventually. But the motel isn't in a great part of town, and Jack really doesn't like the idea of Bitty wandering around outside by himself. Jack puts on his shoes and a jacket, and leaves the room. He's got to at least try to find him. Even if he doesn't want to be found, Jack would never forgive himself if something awful were to happen. He'd rather Bitty be even angrier at him than get hurt.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long to track him down. Bitty's sitting at the counter in the motel bar, nursing a can of cola. Jack feels a wave of relief wash over him, and then walks up to Bitty slowly, stopping when he's still a few seats away.

"Bittle." Jack's voice cracks as he speaks, and he tries again. "Bitty, can I talk to you?"

Bitty turns to face him. He looks lost in thought, as if it takes him a moment to remember where he is.

"Oh. Jack."

"Bitty, I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't."

Jack fights through the pain in his chest. "Please, you have to let me apologize, I didn't mean-"

"What?" Bitty interrupts bitterly. "You didn't mean to kiss me?" He's not shy about it, for the first time since Jack met him, not even looking around to see who might witness this evidence of his sexuality.

"No, that's not it, I wanted to, but..." Jack's starting to have trouble breathing, and he props himself against a stool. 

"Spit it out, Jack," Bitty says sharply. "You didn't have any trouble talking about it before. You said all kinds of things. Are you regretting them already? Gonna quit on me, like you quit everything else?"

"Why are you being like this?" Jack asks, feeling a bit like a child. He grips the counter, trying to steady his breathing. "I'm trying to talk to you-"

"So talk. Give me more of those pretty words. Bat your privileged eyelashes at me, and tell me again how beautiful I am. Come on, out with it." Bitty's eyes are filling with tears. Jack can't understand what's happening.

He stands up, forces himself to draw in a full breath, and faces Bitty. "I don't deserve this from you. I know you've been through awful stuff, but that doesn't give you the right to be cruel. Come back to the room when you're ready to actually talk. I'll be there."

Jack stumbles his way back to the room and throws himself down on the bed. He feels terrible for speaking to Bitty the way he did, but ever since his overdose, people have been telling him to stand up for himself, to treat himself as well as he tries to treat other people. And letting Bitty berate him, after Jack bared his soul... It didn't feel right, and he's supposed to pay attention to that feeling when it happens. 

Jack picks up his phone and scrolls to his last text exchange with his mother. It's from weeks ago, long before he met Bitty, a rote check-in to let his parents know he was still alive. He presses her phone number and tries not to cringe at the disbelief in her voice as she learns that he's just calling to say hi, not to report any new disaster. She gladly talks with him about what she's been up to, his dad's latest Netflix obsession, the state of traffic downtown.

By the time they get off the phone Jack feels just a little bit lighter. Whatever's about to happen with Bitty, he can handle it. He didn't have a panic attack, he spoke on the phone with his mother like an actual human, and he took care of himself. It's like what they tell you on airplanes, his therapist in rehab had said, if you don't put the oxygen mask on yourself first, you won't be able to help anyone else with theirs.

Jack's in bed, tablet on his lap, when the door opens. Bitty casts a sad look his way. Jack freezes as Bitty picks up his backpack, thinking he might just take it and leave, but instead Bitty just gets out Jack's t-shirt and spare sweatpants - the ones he's still using as pajamas - and goes into the bathroom to change.

When Bitty comes out, he stands at the foot of Jack's bed, shoulders hunched and eyes on the floor. "No matter how wrong my mama is about some things, she taught me better than to behave the way I did tonight." Bitty glances up at Jack, struggling to look him in the eye. "I owe you an explanation. But I'd be real grateful if you'd give me a little more time."

The pain in Bitty's voice cuts through Jack like a knife, and he could no more deny this boy his request than cut off his own foot. "Of course, Bitty," Jack says, sitting up and trying to shape his face into something worth believing. "Take all the time you need."

Bitty nods, and then scurries into his bed and wraps himself tightly in the thin blanket. "Thank you, Jack," Jack hears him say thickly. 

"It's okay, Bits," Jack says, wishing desperately that saying it would make it so.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning when Jack wakes up Bitty is still fast asleep, gently snoring into his pillow. Jack showers and dresses quickly, dashing off a short note and tucking it into Bitty's backpack before he leaves.

He spends the morning at Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art. He's been there before, but he sees something new every time.

At noon, he goes to Millennium Park. And right there, by the shining silver sculpture that every tourist in Chicago has to see, Bitty is waiting.

Bitty's wearing the bright yellow polo shirt Jack bought for him, tucked into pleated khaki shorts. From somewhere he's come up with a brown leather belt that emphasizes his slender waist. He's even done something different with his hair, put some kind of product in it to make it stand up a little over his forehead. He looks like a ray of sunshine, standing next to the silver moon.

It's so clear that Bitty has taken extra care with his appearance that Jack can't help but comment on it, no matter how sideways things went yesterday.

"Hey, Bits. You look great."

Bitty blushes an attractive pink, and Jack smiles back at him.

"You don't look so bad yourself, mister."

Jack has swapped out his usual track pants for dark blue slacks, paired with a white button up shirt. Nothing special, but it makes his cheeks warm, knowing that Bitty noticed.

"You ever been to Chicago before?"

Bitty shakes his head, and they start walking. Jack knows a little bit about the history of the city, and some of the architecture, and they talk easily as they walk through the streets. They get sandwiches at a deli when they get hungry, then continue their tour. It's mid afternoon when they come to the lake. There's a breeze blowing across it, even on a summer day, and they pause to enjoy the cool air. Bitty steers Jack over to a bench, and they sit for a few minutes, Bitty kicking his legs back and forth.

"What happened last night... You have to believe me, it didn't have anything to do with you."

Jack's not sure how that could be true, given that he was right there, but he's not going to argue with Bitty about it. "Okay."

Bitty blows his breath out and crosses his legs, then recrosses them. He's delaying, but it doesn't matter either way to Jack. He's got nowhere more important to be.

Finally Bitty takes out his phone and scrolls to a photograph. He hands the phone to Jack. It's a picture of a group of football players, still in their uniforms, crowding around a balding man. 

"The senior players, and my dad. He made me take the picture." Bitty takes the phone from Jack and makes the photo a little bigger. "Him." He points to a burly guy with a light brown crew cut. "Rex. He was my first kiss."

Jack isn't sure what to say to this, but the way Bitty's hand starts to shake as he holds his phone gives him a sick feeling.

"It wasn't consensual. And it didn't stop at kissing."

Bitty presses his phone off and puts it back in his pocket. "Winter of my senior year, the football team had late workouts every Monday night. Coach made me come along, set up equipment and clean up afterwards. One night Rex said he'd stay and help, and give me a ride home when we were done. Coach thought it was a great idea. Thought I was finally making friends with the right people."

"Bitty..."

Bitty holds up his hand, not done. "Most every Monday night, for three months, he'd force me. Told me if I told anyone, he'd tell my dad I was gay. Usually he did it in the locker room, his hand holding me down against a bench or table. Sometimes a wall. He pulled my hair, left bruises on my neck... I tried to fight him at first, but-" Bitty's voice cracks, and he takes a breath, "well, you can imagine how that went. Sometimes I'd hurt so much the next day I had to stay home sick from school."

"When the spring season started, Coach wanted me to keep helping out, but hockey practice conflicted. He almost talked the hockey coach into giving me off one day a week so I could keep doing slave labor for the football team, but I begged him not to interfere. Told him I loved hockey so much, I wanted to spend every spare minute practicing." Bitty laughs bitterly. "He bought it, of course. Was even going to let me go away to college, to play on a good hockey team."

There are tears running silently down Bitty's face, and he absently wipes them with his hand. "So, now you know. Poor Dicky Bittle, Madison's queer little whore."

"Bitty - no. No."

"It's true. And - I had to tell you. I've never told anyone, but - it wouldn't be fair, not to tell you. If... If you really mean what you said, last night."

Jack is terrified, suddenly, that he is isn't equipped to handle this. He doesn't know what to say. All his own misery and self-hatred pale in comparison to what Bitty has been through. 

Bitty is staring at the ground, hands flat on his knees. It's like he's waiting for the axe to fall. Jack has to do something, anything, so he opens his mouth and starts talking. "Hey. Hey, Bitty, look at me."

Bitty does, the shame clear on his face.

"Thank you for, um, for telling me. Bitty... what happened to you was terrible. I can't even imagine. But it wasn't your fault. No part of it was your fault. And it doesn't change the way I feel about you."

"Are you sure?" Bitty asks hesitantly. "Because I wouldn't blame you, Jack. I promise I wouldn't."

"I'm sure." 

Bitty doesn't look convinced, and Jack hopes this might be one of those times when actions speak louder than words. He licks his lips, and slides closer to Bitty on the bench. "Bitty... Can I kiss you?"

Bitty's eyes grow wide. "I'd like that."

Jack moves in slowly, keeping his hands on his lap, and touches his lips gently to Bitty's mouth. He hardly lingers for a moment before pulling back, but then Bitty's hands are gripping his shoulders and tugging him close, his mouth finding Jack's and kissing him back, soft but sure. It doesn't last long, but then Bitty tucks his head in against Jack's cheek and breathes deep, lacing his hands across his neck and holding on tight.

Jack holds Bitty close, hands spread on the small of his back. They stay like that for long enough that Jack wonders if Bitty might have fallen asleep. When he shifts, Bitty looks up at him, brown eyes full of something Jack is hesitant to name. "I like you too, Jack," Bitty says, a soft smile spreading on his face. 

Jack must look confused, as Bitty giggles a little and presses a quick kiss to his lips. 

"Just thought you should know, silly. Since you told me how you felt. I want you to know, too. I like you."

It should sound like something a kid would say, but it doesn't. Instead, Bitty's words sound like a declaration of love, and it makes Jack's head spin. 

"Bitty... " Jack closes his eyes, trying to put his feelings into words. "You make me feel like it's possible."

Bitty runs a finger along Jack's jaw. "Hon? Like what's possible?"

"Anything."

*****

They leave the lakefront when they start to get chilly, and walk along the street together. Bitty takes Jack's hand with a glance up at Jack, checking to see if it's okay. Jack nods, blushing, and wonders how holding hands can make him feel even more head over heels for this boy than kissing him.

When they get back to their motel, Bitty smiles shyly at him. "Thank you. Today was... a perfect first date."

Jack doesn't miss the word choice, and he rushes to confirm. "I wanted it to be."

Bitty relaxes, joyful. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Bitty grins, and bounces a little on his toes. "Took you long enough."

Jack doesn't point out that the most recent delay was on Bitty's end. "Was worth it, though. Don't you think?" He takes Bitty's hand and presses a kiss to his palm.

Bitty lets out a surprised breath, and grips Jack's hand tightly. "You charmer. How'd I even find you?"

Jack huffs out a laugh. "It was that night in the diner."

"Which diner?"

"Where you spilled your coffee, and the waitress was mean to you."

Bitty looks confused. "Before I hitched a ride with you?"

"Yeah. Bitty, you..."

"What?"

Jack waves his hands. "I don't know how to describe it. But when I saw you... There was just something about you. And then you turned up the very next morning on the road."

"Maybe it's fate."

Jack doesn't believe in fate, but he's not about to argue with Bitty, not when he's looking up at him with his big, trusting brown eyes, cheeks still pink with excitement.

"Maybe it is."

****

Jack is lying in his bed in their motel room, mentally going over his schedule for the next few days. It's not complicated, but he needs to do something to keep his mind off the fact that Bitty is lying in the bed next to him, his sweet smile and gentle eyes just feet away.

They've done plenty of kissing, but no more. Given what Bitty has told him about being assaulted, Jack doesn't want to rush things. He couldn't bear to hurt Bitty.

He can tell that Bitty is getting interested in going further, though. And of course, there's no question that Jack is interested, too. He just doesn't know how to balance all the conflicting feelings that threaten to overwhelm him when he's close to Bitty.

There's a rustle of bedsheets, and then in the dim light he sees Bitty slide out of his own bed and over to Jack's.

"Scootch over," Bitty says, and proceeds to climb in without waiting for Jack to agree. He snuggles up against Jack's side, but Jack is frozen in place, entirely adrift.

"Just to sleep, okay?" Bitty says softly. "The air in here is so chilly, and you're so warm." Bitty's words make it sound like Jack is the one who needs to take it slow, who might be frightened off by physical intimacy. That Jack is deserving of a delicate hand. 

Jack doesn't know what to make of this, but Bitty is a precious weight against his side, all elbows and knees and toothpaste breath. He lets his fingers skim over soft hair and rest on a narrow shoulder blade. Jack's hand feels gigantic, spread over Bitty's back.

But as soon as Jack focuses on what's happening, that this sweet boy cares for him, the hope that had bubbled up inside him fizzles away. Because he knows deep down inside him, without a doubt, that Bitty isn't his to keep. 

Bitty is all that is bright and shining. His life is just beginning. And Jack has known for two years now that his might as well be over.

Their conversation a few days later seals the deal. They've been making out for a few minutes, lazy kisses inside their motel room door before climbing into the truck for a long day of driving, when Bitty giggles and blinks his eyes fondly up at Jack.

"Knew I made the right decision. Wasn't gonna be no one like you out there for me, not even at Samwell."

"At Samwell?" Jack pulls back, but Bitty just waves him off and steals another kiss.

"Was all lined up to go there this fall. Had a hockey scholarship. But even that wouldn't cover everything. Without my parents on board..." Bitty shrugs. "But now it doesn't matter, does it? I've got a job delivering fancy furniture with a handsome man at my side. That beats college any day."

Bitty's words are sincere, and Jack feels his heart crack right down the middle. Bitty's been so beaten down, he's ready to accept Jack's washed-up life as a replacement for a real one.

For the next few days, Jack invents errands and phone calls and generally comes up with ever more lame excuses to avoid spending much private time alone with Bitty. It's a real challenge, given that they sleep in the same motel room. One night Jack has a headache, then goes out for a late run the next. Bitty can tell something's up, and doesn't make any attempt to climb into bed with Jack. 

By the third day, Bitty's sunshine has dimmed. He looks at Jack sadly over their morning coffee.

"I'm sorry I pushed," Bitty says. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not that... it's not you, Bits," Jack says. He sucks in a deep breath as he prepares to say what he's been trying to spit out for days. "This isn't going to work." It hurts even more to say it than he thought it would, and even more to see the injured look of shame and sorrow that passes over Bitty's face before he abruptly runs out of the snack bar and into the parking lot.

They're in rural Pennsylvania. Jack hopes Bitty doesn't decide to take off on his own. Jack jogs after him, calling his name. 

"Give me a minute," Bitty says to him, turning away and scrubbing at his eyes. "Just... "

"Bitty - please - get in the truck?"

Bitty shoots him a confused look, but he complies, and soon they are on the road. Jack is entirely unable to start a conversation that doesn't involve a lie, and Bitty seems to be teetering on the edge of terrified, so they drive in silence.

That night, they bump against each other as they are getting into bed, and Jack, forgetting that he's supposed to have changed his mind, gives Bitty a fond little kiss on the head. Bitty leans into it, then climbs under the blankets and lobs a "'night, sweetheart" into the dark space between them. Jack's heart sinks. He doesn't want to give Bitty false hope. This can't continue. Bitty can't stay with him.

They make it through another day of near-silent travel. Bitty is rallying, trying to get Jack to talk about some of his favorite topics. He even suggests stopping for a tour of famous revolutionary war battle sites as they get closer to Philadelphia.

They stop for the night in Connecticut. Their food is taking forever to arrive, so Jack orders them another round of drinks. They don't usually get adult beverages, but Jack is so wired from Bitty's presence, from the effort it is taking to resist him, to stick with his plan, that he needs something to take the edge off.

Bitty takes a gulp of his margarita, and Jack remembers with a pang that the kid is only eighteen. He looks even younger, and Jack spares a hypocritical thought for their waiter for serving either one of them without proper identification.

Walking back to their room, Bitty sways slightly, and Jack grabs his waist to hold him up.

"Such a gentleman," Bitty says. Jack can't tell if he's being sincere.

A group of kids are congregating at one end of the parking lot, students from the look of them. They're happy, drinking and laughing with each other, messing around with a few lacrosse sticks and a ball.

"My mom dated a lacrosse player in college," Jack says as he unlocks the door to their room. "At least that's what she tells my dad when she wants to rile him up."

"Oh yeah? Did she go to McGill?"

Jack replies without thinking. "No, she went to Samwell."

Bitty freezes, then grabs for Jack's duffel.

"Bitty? What are you..."

"That's it," Bitty mutters under his breath. He pulls the binder with the delivery schedule out of Jack's bag and pages through it. "We don't have any deliveries in New England for weeks." He turns a page back and forth, confirming. "The next one is in New Jersey, and after that, Maryland." Bitty closes the binder carelessly and tosses it on the bed.

"Bitty?"

He turns to Jack, anger flashing in his eyes. "That's what this is about, isn't it?"

"What?" Jack's mind is spinning, and his chest constricts.

"Samwell. You.. You cut me out, when I said I had gotten into Samwell. You're jealous, or mad at me, or..." Bitty seems to know this doesn't make much sense, but he can also tell he's on to something.

"No, Bitty, no-"

"Don't toy with me, Jack." Bitty is fuming. "What the hell is going on?"

There's a pause, while Bitty glares at Jack. He's got a top-notch glare. 

Jack wishes he could be more eloquent, but it all boils down to one thing. "You have to go. To Samwell. You have to."

Bitty's eyes grow even wider. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Jack Zimmermann. I am perfectly happy here with you - or I was until you decided to pull this stupid-ass stunt."

"But - I don't have a life, Bitty. I threw mine away when I overdosed. I'm nothing, I'm going nowhere fast in a truck filled with history books and museum pamphlets. I blew my chance. I don't have a choice. But you do." Jack is practically begging him. "This can't be what you want, Bitty. Don't settle for it. Please."

"How dare you presume to decide what's best for me," Bitty hisses.

"Do you really want to give up now, Bitty? Because that's what my life is. Giving up."

Bitty stares at him, shaken by the despair Jack has inadvertently revealed. Then he shakes his head, defeated. "Even if I wanted to, I can't go, Jack. I don't have the money."

"I talked to my mom, she said emergency scholarship money can be applied to your remaining costs, she talked to the dean and made sure. That and a part time job during the off season and you'll be fine."

Jack braces for more yelling, which he rightly deserves, but the fight has gone out of Bitty.

"You can't be serious." Bitty blinks at him, taking it in. 

“I even talked to the head coach of the hockey team, and one of the players.” Jack had actually been pleasantly surprised at how chill the coach was – he didn’t make a single comment about Jack, just kept the focus on Bitty. “You can show up any time for pre-season conditioning.” 

Jack pauses as Bitty absorbs this information. He knows he may have overstepped, but he wanted to make sure it was going to work out for Bitty. It’s too important.

Bitty goes into the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door, just runs the water for a minute and then comes back out. It looks like he splashed water on his face, still flushed from his three margaritas. He throws himself down on the bed, all loose limbed, and sighs. “Jack. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to." Jack tries to keep his voice steady. Why didn't he tell Bitty as soon as he had talked to his mom? Was he hoping maybe there would be some other ending to this mess, some way that he wouldn't have to give Bitty up?

"So, you were just going to pull up in front of the freshman dorms and surprise me?" Bitty says quietly.

"Please understand, Bitty. I was afraid to say anything. I..." His words get stuck in his throat.

"Damn straight you shoulda been afraid,” Bitty says, but there’s not much force to it.

"You can go on with your life now," Jack says. "Classes, and hockey, and meeting new people. A college degree. You can have everything."

Bitty finally sits up and meets Jack’s eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is choked with tears. "But I already have everything."

It hits Jack like a blow, the way Bitty is looking at him. And then Bitty is kissing him, hard and desperate, pushing at his chest. Jack falls back on the bed as Bitty attacks his mouth, tequila flavored kisses hot and insistent.

"You still want me," Bitty breathes out, straddling Jack on the bed, his pupils blown as he looks down at him. He drags a finger slowly down Jack's chest. "When you said this wasn't going to work, it wasn't because you didn't want me."

"'Course I still want you," Jack stutters out, pulling Bitty close. "God, Bits, of course."

Bitty shoves at Jack's shirt, tugging it off quickly, then sits up and pulls off his own. His ass is pressed into Jack's crotch, and Bitty uses the position to his advantage, squirming against Jack until he moans. Bitty gets his hands under the waistband of Jack's track pants, and before Jack knows it he's got his hand around Jack's dick.

"Bitty, oh, crisse, oh fuck."

"That's it, Jack," Bitty praises. "Let me make you feel good."

Jack surges up and finds Bitty's mouth, sucking on his lips and tongue, kissing down his neck. He flips them and fumbles with the button on Bitty's jeans. Bitty helps him, and soon they are both naked. Jack leans over Bitty, skin on skin, and he thinks he's going to lose his mind with the sensation.

"Wanna fuck me, Jack?" Bitty says, low and rough. He's grabbing Jack's ass, fingers digging into his cheeks, and thrusting his hips up at him. "You can, if you want. You can fuck me."

The words seem a little indelicate coming out of Bitty's mouth, but no less welcome. Jack can't remember being this turned on. Even with the drinks he had he's still hard as a rock. If Bitty's hand feels this good, he can't even imagine what it would be like to be inside him.

He stretches down to scramble in his duffel for the lube, and when he comes back up to the bed, Bitty has shifted, his mouth almost even with Jack's hips. Jack's brain shorts out when he realizes what Bitty is trying to do, and he holds still as Bitty slides down and takes Jack's cock in his hand.

At Bitty's urging, Jack positions himself on his knees. Bitty opens his mouth and licks up at Jack, then shifts and sucks the head of Jack's cock in between his lips. Jack lets out a long moan and grips the bedsheets for all he's worth. Soon he's trembling, his legs shaking, and he's fighting to keep himself from fucking hard into Bitty's mouth.

Bitty pops off and draws in a long breath, then looks up at Jack. "Do it, Jack. Come on." Bitty sucks Jack back into his mouth, and gets his hand on Jack's ass, fingers moving back towards his hole.

It's all the encouragement Jack needs, and he lets himself go, thrusting in. Bitty takes him deep, over and over until he has to pull off, gagging and struggling for breath, spit running down his chin. Even then, Bitty leans toward him to go again, but Jack stops him, sliding back to kiss down Bitty's chest. He sucks on a nipple and gives it a little bite. Bitty almost flinches - sensitive, Jack thinks, careful there - and then distracts Jack by reaching down to grab his cock again.

"Ready to fuck me now?" Bitty asks, stroking hard and tight. "You can do it. You can do anything you want to me."

Again, Bitty's words sound strange coming out of his mouth, but Jack can't deny that it's hot.

"You sure, Bits?" Jack tries to catch Bitty's eyes, but Bitty is looking between their bodies, watching his hand work on Jack's cock, the swollen head moving in and out of his pale fist.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Bitty bends his knees up, exposing himself. "Come on, Jack. Put it in me. It'll feel so good. I'll make you feel so good."

Jack finds the lube where he tossed it on the bed and slicks up his fingers. Slowly, he presses one in, just a fingertip at first, but Bitty writhes down on him. He almost seems surprised that it's a finger, not Jack's cock. "You can do better than that, I can take it. Come on."

Jack puts a second finger in, noticing that Bitty has gone soft, and he pauses to give Bitty's cock some attention. But Bitty squirms. "No, I'm good. Later. Give me another finger, now, come on."

Jack complies, or at least he tries to. It's too soon. Even with more lube, Bitty feels tight. Jack can't get a third finger in, not without hurting him. Jack goes back to two, and Bitty protests, his feet coming up around Jack, hands hanging on tight to Jack's shoulders. He's working himself on Jack's fingers frantically, shoving his ass down over and over, twisting and pushing. He's almost chanting to Jack, or maybe just to himself, "come on, come on, come on."

Jack slows, a nervous feeling blooming in his stomach, and he leans down to press a kiss to Bitty's lips. He lands against a cheek wet with tears and recoils, fingers sliding out of Bitty's ass as he sits up.

"No, come back, Jack, come on-"

"Bitty-"

"I'm okay, I'm fine, come on, you can fuck me." Bitty is reaching for him, clawing at his chest with one hand while the other grasps at his hips. "Please, Jack, you can do anything you want to me."

Jack nearly falls off the bed, backing away, as Bitty sobs after him. 

"Please, Jack. Don't go. I'll make you feel so good."

Jack barely makes it to the bathroom in time, just managing to reach the toilet before the contents of his stomach come up. When he finishes retching he can hear Bitty crying, horrible sobs that rip through Jack's body. 

Crouching next to the dirty toilet, dick still hard, while the most beautiful boy he has ever met cries his heart out in the other room, Jack feels an all too familiar wave of disgust. How has his life come to this, again, taking the potential for good and turning it to shit? What is wrong with him, that he can't help screwing up everything he comes near?

He cleans himself up and shuffles back into the room, untangling his briefs from the pile on the floor and pulling them on. Bitty is still sniffling into his pillow, curled up tight, his naked skin gleaming in the harsh light from the parking lot that leaks around the edge of the blinds. Jack aches for him, for this broken soul who had the misfortune to come his way. 

Jack sits on the edge of the bed and tugs the thin blanket up over Bitty. Bitty shifts and curls into him, pressing his face against Jack's leg. He's still crying softly, his body trembling with it. Jack lays a hand gently on Bitty's back, feeling the ridge of a narrow shoulder blade.

Bitty whimpers, and Jack rubs a circle with his hand. "You're okay, Bits."

"I'm sorry I couldn't-"

"No, it's me that's sorry," Jack interrupts. "I'm so, so sorry. I can't even put into words how sorry I am. I took advantage-"

"No, you did no such thing!" Bitty sits up and throws his arms around Jack. "I wanted... I wanted... Please..." 

"You didn't want that," Jack says softly, and Bitty digs his face into Jack's neck.

"But I want _you._

"Shh, it's okay. Tout va bien.”

Bitty cries some more, and Jack rocks him, holding him close. He breathes in his scent, cards his fingers through his hair, and feels guilty as sin for enjoying this last moment of intimacy with Bitty, as the boy he won't have a chance to love falls to pieces in Jack's arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Bitty is in the shower when Jack wakes up, and by the time Jack takes his turn, Bitty's back from the snack bar with two coffees and a bag of donuts. Bitty prattles on about the weather and the traffic report and the sorry state of pastry available in this establishment while they pack up their meager belongings and get into the truck.

Bitty doesn't ask where they're going, and Jack doesn't tell him. But for once, they both know.

The campus is full of leafy green trees, imposing brick buildings, and students who look like they stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalogue. They take a turn down a side road and pull up in front of a house that looks like it has seen better days, and a mustached kid wearing a tank top with an American flag on it comes striding over.

Bitty turns to Jack, all pretense suddenly dropping from his face. "Jack - how - what if I can't do this?"

Jack feels his throat tighten. "You're gonna be great, Bits. I know it."

Bitty nods, then reaches across the console to pull Jack into an awkward hug. "Take care of yourself."

Jack presses his face into Bitty's hair and struggles not to cry. "You too," he finally chokes out.

Then Bitty is swinging open the door of the cab and jumping out, waving to the kid with the mustache who has been joined by two more boys. Jack watches for a moment, sees them slap Bitty on the back and pull him into a bro hug, and then he pulls away.

He drives for almost an hour before he realizes he has no fucking idea where he's going.

*****

Two months later, Jack is back in Montreal. His parents are surprised, and they spend the first few days watching him so carefully his skin itches. They seem to be trying to figure out if it's a good thing or a bad thing that Jack has returned home, but even if they asked him, Jack doesn't know what he would say.

Finally, one night over dinner, he tries to explain. He wants more stability. More challenge. Just... more. He elaborates to his therapist, after a few weeks of small talk before he feels comfortable with her again. He wants his life to be more than driving in circles. He's ready to try again.

Jack tells his mom, on an evening when his therapy session has left him feeling flayed open, in a not entirely bad way. "Oh, sweetheart," she says, blinking up at him. "I so hoped things were going better." She reaches up and pulls him into a hug. "I'm so pleased." 

They sit down on the couch, and his mom gives him a shy smile. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jack does, and he doesn't, but figures if he really didn't want to he wouldn't have opened his mouth, so he tells her. About driving, through small towns and down highways. About taking time off, to visit museums and gaze at architecture. About avoiding hockey games on television. About eating alone, until a sweet southern boy came into his life and kept him company for a little while.

Alicia listens, a serious look on her face, until Jack starts talking about Bitty. Then her expression becomes almost wistful.

"Seems that we owe Eric more than just a call to the dean," she says thoughtfully. "How's he doing? Does he like Samwell?"

Jack's chest tightens. "I, um, I haven't talked to him."

Alicia looks puzzled. "Why not?"

Why not? Jack has been avoiding thinking about Bitty, but his mother's simple question now makes it impossible. He lasts less than twenty-four hours before he opens up his laptop and composes a message to send to Bitty's new Samwell email address (which his mom had left unsubtly pinned to his cork board).

He writes and rewrites, finally settling on something that seems like it was written by a desperate middle schooler, but at least hopefully has a ring of truth: 

_Dear Bitty,_

_I hope it's okay to write to you. I'd like to keep in touch, if you'd like that too. I'm back in Montreal, living with my family. I can't bear to ask if you like Samwell, because if you hate it there I don't know what I'll do. Please give my best to Knight, he was really helpful when I talked to him before I dropped you off._

_Yours,_

_Jack_

He hits send and immediately closes his laptop. But he can't resist opening it back up before he goes to sleep that night, and a shiver runs through him when he sees that Bitty has already responded. The subject of the message is "of course you silly man..."

_Dear Jack,_

_As you know now (if you saw the subject line, personally I skip right over those sometimes, so maybe you didn't) of course it's okay to write to me! I would've written first if... Okay, I don't have an excuse. I was too chicken. So thank you for biting the bullet._

_I'd like us to keep in touch, too. So much has happened since I got here. I still find myself wanting to tell you about every little thing. My roommate is fine, but (don't laugh) he's such a child. I don't think he's ever had to make a decision for himself._

_I was overwhelmed by the boys on the team at first, I will admit. There's nothing like a gang of straight jocks to remind a tiny former figure skater of his place in the world. And their lack of hygiene is terrifying. I think I'm starting to make some friends, though. Shitty (Knight, the guy you talked to – he’s the one with the mustache) is quite a character, but he's a good listener, and he looks out for us frogs (that's what they call the freshmen)._

_There's so much more I want to say, but it's late and I still haven't finished my homework (don't blame yourself, I hardly ever get going before midnight). Please write back soon._

_Yours truly, Bitty_

Jack reads the email over three times, hearing it so clearly in Bitty's southern lilt that it seems like he is in the room with him. What stuns him, perhaps more even than the fact that Bitty wrote back at all, is the complete absence of any resentment towards Jack. Bitty isn't mad at him, not for the miserable mess that their last night together turned into, and not for the way Jack forced him, more or less, into not giving up on Samwell.

Of course, he might still be mad, and just not be showing it. Jack has learned in the most painful way that Bitty will put a bright face on almost anything. But he wrote back, and he wants to keep in touch... Jack reads the email again. "I still find myself wanting to tell you about every little thing." It doesn't sound like someone who wishes he never met Jack, or any of the more dire scenarios Jack had imagined.

He likes the email so much, he's tempted to print it out and sleep with it under his pillow.

They begin writing to each other regularly. Jack works hard on his messages, trying to include information that Bitty might find interesting. Bitty's seem to just flow from his fingers to the page like his words always did, carelessly and light, tidbits of meaning hidden underneath chatter and gossip.

They don't dive too deeply into much until one night when Bitty adds, as a postscript to a newsy message about the challenges of baking pie for a team of boys with bottomless pits for stomachs, "Ransom tried to set me up. He was rather insistent until Shitty finally shut him down. I don't know what to do."

Jack isn't sure how to respond - is Bitty worried about revealing his sexuality? About intimacy? Is he just shy? He struggles over his return message - everything he writes sounds ridiculous. Eventually he just writes "Are you okay? Can I call you?" and waits for Bitty to chirp him for being over dramatic.

Instead, his phone rings.

"Bitty?"

"Jack - hi. I hope it was okay to call. I mean, you asked if you could, so I figured, but, still.."

Jack is reminded of the first time he spoke to Bitty, through his truck window at the side of the road. He smiles, although he knows Bitty can't see him. "Yes, of course."

"It's so good to hear your voice," Bitty says, as Jack stumbles over asking Bitty again if he's okay.

Bitty laughs, softly. "It's a hard question to answer, coming from you. You know too much about me."

"Maybe that's why you wrote that in your email."

"Yeah," Bitty says. "You know it is."

There's a comfortable silence, and then Bitty starts talking in his roundabout manner, telling Jack about a kegster, and the boys on the team, and how Ransom and his fellow D-man like to tease Bitty. "They mean well," Bitty says. "I know they do. But... They don't know how complicated it is."

"How complicated what is?" Jack asks neutrally.

Bitty sighs. "You know. It's one thing to be a gay boy on a sports team. It's quite another to have the... history... that I do, with, um, relations."

"Bits? Have you ever talked to anyone?"

There's another silence, this time not so comfortable. "You mean, a doctor?"

"Yeah. Or a therapist." Jack swallows hard, and makes himself continue. "It really helps me, to talk to Deb."

"Deb?"

"My therapist," Jack says, only a small tremor in his voice. "I started seeing her after the overdose. I thought I didn't need her anymore, but when I came home, I started up again. It's been good. She helps me, a lot."

"Do you think there's someone that could help me?" Bitty asks, his voice barely loud enough for Jack to hear. "I mean, is this the kind of thing that can be helped?"

"I think it is," Jack says, his heart breaking for Bitty. "If you want, we can try to find someone together. I bet Samwell has all kinds of resources."

Jack thinks he hears Bitty sniffle. "You're a good man, Jack Zimmermann."

He squeezes his eyes tight, and wishes he could wrap his arms around Bitty, hold him tight and protect him from the world. "Takes one to know one."

More weeks go by, and soon Bitty is busy getting ready for midterms, and then finals. Jack, with not much to occupy himself, gets a job coaching hockey. His mom thinks it's her doing, but Jack acknowledges to himself that he might have agreed - at least in part - to give him something to talk about with Bitty. 

His team is just little kids, who love him because he picks them up when they fall - sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. Some of the parents seem hesitant to release their little ones into his care, but he makes sure to keep the lines of communication open and answer all their questions. Still, he's never alone with a child. Even the ones who beg for extra help need to find a buddy to practice with, and a parent to be at the rink, or Jack won't do it.

His team improves steadily, and Jack lets himself feel proud. 

Coaching the kids also has the somewhat obvious side effect of getting Jack back on the ice. As he runs the players through their drills, he toys with starting to train again. There are agents interested in whether Jack is going to skate professionally, but his mother runs interference. She tells Jack that until he lets her know he's interested, she's not going to say a word to him about getting back into the game, and she's very good at keeping her word.

Jack doesn't tell her about the scouts that come to the rink, clapping appreciatively for his kids, and then trying to convince Jack to let them take him out for a drink. Some of them suggest coffee instead, and Jack can't tell if it's a reference to his rumored drinking problem or not.

It's late one night and Jack is feeling particularly good. His kids had a great practice this afternoon, really working together in a way that he thinks is unusual for their age. Even some of the more reluctant players are coming out of their shells. His father had stopped by near the end of practice, and gave Jack one of his rare, genuine smiles that warmed him better than any cup of hot chocolate.

It makes him brave, and when he emails Bitty, he asks him a question he should have asked weeks ago.

_Do you have plans for winter break? You'd be welcome to spend it here._

Bitty doesn't respond that night. Jack can't remember Bitty ever not writing back the same night - he tends to stay up significantly later than Jack. He thinks this is probably not a good sign.

He looks over their emails from the past week or two. They haven't been talking as much, but Jack had figured it was because Bitty was busy with final papers and exams. He doesn't see any evidence of him screwing anything up. But he must have done something wrong.

The answer finally comes late the next afternoon.

_Dear Jack,_

_I feel like such a heel right now, and not just because I didn't write you back last night. The truth is, I was on a date, actually my second date, with a boy I met in my freshman English class. I doubt it's true love, but he's sweet to me, and he's from the south too, so he's got some idea of how out of place I feel here sometimes. It's nice to feel wanted, even if it doesn't go anywhere._

_I hope it's okay to tell you this stuff. I don't really know where we stand, you and me. I've been afraid to ask. The last thing I want to do is hurt you._

_Thank you for the very kind winter break invitation. Unfortunately Shitty beat you to the punch. We're also planning on coming back here early for extra hockey practice. I'm ridiculously scared of being checked, and Shitty is going to help me work on it. The dorms will still be closed but Johnson said I could stay in his room at the Haus, which is cool because I'll have twenty-four hour a day access to the oven (for pies, of course)._

_I've also been meaning to tell you that my therapy sessions are going a lot better. I think I didn't do anything but chatter about meaningless trivia for the first few weeks. I know I probably do that with you, too, and I'm sorry. I'll try harder._

_Please don't be mad._

_Yours (always),_

_Bitty_

After reading Bitty's email, Jack is sorely tempted to drain every bottle in his father's liquor cabinet. But he doesn't. 

Although the sick feeling in his stomach remains, Jack forces himself to read Bitty's message more carefully the next day. He has to admit, Bitty made some good points. They hadn't established where they stood, as Bitty had put it. They have hardly talked about what happened between them at all. And hadn't Jack wanted Bitty to have a real college experience, a real life? In anyone's book, that had to include the opportunity to date, if Bitty wanted to.

Jack wasn't proud of his jealous streak, but it did make him realize that at some point over the past few months he had gone from assuming that he'd never have anyone special in his life, and definitely not Bitty, to holding out hope that maybe someday they'd get back together. It was a revelation of monumental proportions, one that threw him back on his heels with surprise. 

When he told his own therapist about it, Deb smiled gently at him. "So you feel more comfortable with the idea that you might be worthy of someone's love?"

With a shy sort of joy, Jack had to admit that he did.

Of course, this still didn't address the situation at hand. To do that, he had to come clean to Bitty.

_Dear Bits,_

_Thanks for being honest with me. I know, believe me, how hard it is to put feelings into words. But you're right that we haven't talked about us. So I'll give it a try._

_Part of me wishes you and I had more time together last summer, that I had told you sooner how you made me feel like it was possible to feel happiness again. That I had kissed you sooner. But it wasn't wasted time, the weeks we spent together. I don't think I was ready for more. I didn't think I was entitled to be cared for._

_I know you think that how things went that last night is your fault, but I don't agree. I'm still so sorry for hurting you. I never want to be that person. I hope that if your relationship with English class boy progresses that you'll go slow, and protect yourself, both your heart and your body. You don't need to ever do anything physical that you aren't completely on board with. Not just that it's okay with you, but that you want it, for you._

_Bitty, the best part of my day is writing to you, and reading your emails. I hear your voice in my head when I read them, and I treasure each word. Even if you think it's just chatter, I can assure you it's not._

_I still don't really know where my life is going, but I hope you'll always be a part of it._

_Yours always, Jack_

_P.S. I'm not mad. Unbecomingly jealous, for certain. But never mad._

Bitty's reply the next day makes Jack grin and blush like a fool.

_No need to be jealous, sweetheart. As I predicted, there's not a soul here that could hold a candle to you._

Although the air has been cleared, their emails go back to lighter subjects. Bitty doesn't see English class boy (Hunter is his name, which Shitty apparently thinks is hilarious) over break, but Bitty does continue dating him when school starts up again. They have a few arguments, which Bitty describes as mostly due to Hunter's dissatisfaction with the amount of time he spends on hockey and hockey-related activities. One day, however, when Bitty defends his choice to help Johnson deep clean the locker room instead of going to a movie with Hunter, Jack allows himself a smirk of satisfaction - it's essentially the jock version of "I can't, I have to stay in and wash my hair." To no one's surprise, Bitty breaks up with Hunter not long afterwards.

At his therapist's suggestion, Jack spends a lot of time thinking about what makes him happy. She insists this will help him figure out what to do next, which seems like an obvious connection but is still hard for Jack to accept. There's something about the idea that he is allowed to make choices based on whether he thinks they will be satisfying to him personally that seems almost selfish.

"It's your life, Jack," Deb chides him. "Shouldn't you spend it the way you want to?"

By late spring, he's made his decision. He doesn't want to tell anyone, at first; wants to keep it to himself, where no one will tear him down for all the paths he's not following. 

He also doesn't tell Bitty. He thinks Bitty will be pleased, but the thought that he might not be paralyzes him.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack catches sight of Bitty down by the edge of the rink, bent over what look like goody bags tied with ribbon in Samwell colors. His hair is cut short, but it still sticks up over his forehead, as endearing as ever. Bitty looks like he's grown a few inches, and his narrow shoulders are a little broader. Jack breathes out a long, slow breath, and walks down the stairs.

"I hear this is where the new players are supposed to meet?"

Bitty spins, his eyes going wide. "Jack!" He launches himself at Jack, wrapping his arms tight around his neck. "Shitty wouldn't tell me the name of the frog who was coming early. I didn't dare hope it would be you!"

Bitty hugs him hard, then pulls back, a pink blush coloring his cheeks. "You look good," Bitty says, his eyes sweeping over Jack's body.

Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush. "You do, too." Bitty's tanned skin is begging to be touched, and Jack lets himself reach out and gives his arm a squeeze, then shoves his hands into his pockets to prevent any more awkward gestures. But Bitty doesn't seem to mind.

"The other boys should be here in a few minutes," Bitty says, handing Jack one of the beribboned bags. "You can have a mini-pie while you wait, if you want."

"Mini-pie?"

"Yup. Apple, with a maple sugar crust." Bitty watches Jack take a bite with a knowing smile on his face.

"Holy crap, Bits, that's amazing."

"Thought you'd like it." Bitty grins up at him. "I used real maple syrup. Can't remember how many times you complained about the inadequate syrup in all those diners."

The other two frogs join them all too soon. Bitty walks them around the campus, talking about the hockey program and college life in general. He's not subtle about sending glances Jack's way, however, and they soon fall into easy conversation that has the two other boys confused.

"Do, um, do you two know each other?"

Jack panics, worrying that he's said something wrong, but Bitty just laughs and gives Jack's shoulder an affectionate pat. "Mr. Zimmermann and I go way back. Heck, he's the reason I came to Samwell."

It's not long before the rest of the team is fawning over Jack. He was a bit of a celebrity, after all. His dad certainly is. Most anyone who followed hockey has some idea of what happened to Jack. More often than not, Bitty's the one who steps in and takes the attention off him, and he’s grateful.

Luckily practices start up right away. Jack hopes that once the other players see what he can do on the ice, they'll forget about what took him off three years ago. He's right, for the most part.

Jack watches Bitty with his teammates, and what he sees makes him proud. He's clearly an important part of the team, on the ice and off it, his cheerful spirit putting smiles on everyone’s faces. Jack tries not to monopolize his time, but he can't help being pulled toward him, the proverbial moth to Bitty's bright flame.

A few days in, Bitty pulls Jack aside after practice. "Annie's is opening back up today. They make a great iced mocha. Want to try it?"

Over coffee, Jack lets himself get lost in Bitty's brown eyes, and grins when Bitty teases him about it. "You might give a boy ideas," Bitty says, his lighthearted tone covering up what Jack can tell is a serious question.

"Maybe I'd like to give him ideas."

A soft smile spreads across Bitty's face. "Yeah?"

Jack shrugs, not even trying to stop the dopey smile he knows he's sporting. "Yeah."

They walk back across campus together, arms nearly brushing. Jack wouldn't mind holding Bitty's hand, but he can't quite get close enough to be nonchalant about it. After a few near misses, Bitty shoots Jack a measured look.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"You seem to be flirtin' with me. Not that I mind, but - you sure about this?"

Jack's mind goes blank. "...About you?"

Bitty smirks. "Nah, I think I'm clear on that. I mean... Being out."

Jack has, in fact, thought about this, more and more since he began seriously considering enrolling at Samwell, or some other school that would put him in geographic proximity to Bitty. And every time, he comes up with the same answer.

He stops walking and catches Bitty's gaze, holding it steadily. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Eric Bittle. If you're willing to have me, after everything... well, I'd just as soon the whole world know." Jack holds out his hand palm up, and Bitty takes it, blushing furiously.

"You don't do anything halfway, do you, Mr. Zimmermann?"

"So I've been told."

Despite the fairy tale moment, their relationship isn't exactly smooth sailing. Hockey takes up a lot of their time, and it turns out that Jack is just as fanatically dedicated to excelling at hockey as he used to be, once he gets going. Bitty likes hockey, sure, but it doesn't have the same hold on him that it does on Jack.

Shitty sits Jack down one day and reads him the riot act, which starts off as a lecture on not burning himself out with extra workouts and practices, but morphs quickly into a shovel talk concerning Bitty.

"Dude, when's the last time you took him out someplace nice? 'Cause it seems like getting your beauty sleep is more important than romancing your boy, and you know that's not a good sign."

When Jack confronts Bitty about it, he bursts into tears, and Jack feels his heart break.

"I understand how important hockey is to you, Jack, I really do," Bitty says, wiping his eyes. "It's okay."

But it's really not, and Jack promises to do better.

They also discover that their study schedules - or in Bitty's case, his lack of a study schedule - absolutely do not match up. Jack likes to plan everything out, down to the last detail, and makes sure everything gets completed well in advance. Bitty, on the other hand, is a champion procrastinator, to the point where he stays up all night doing homework so often that it affects his performance in morning practices. He gets a stern talking to from the coach in front of the team, and he and Jack hardly talk for the rest of the week, both of them hearing "I told you so" every time they share a glance.

When things are good, however, they are very, very good. Coffee at Annie's becomes a regular thing, as do nights watching movies in Jack's single dorm room, and lazy Sunday afternoons baking pie in the Haus kitchen. 

Physically, they are taking things slow. 

"Even glaciers move faster," Bitty grumbles when Jack stops them to cool off. But Jack can't shake the memory of that night over a year ago, when Bitty told him yes for all the wrong reasons, and Jack couldn't tell. He doesn't want that to happen again. And the only way he can be sure it won't is to put a lid on anything except kissing, with occasional fully dressed snuggling, hands kept firmly above the waist.

One glorious fall afternoon when Jack thinks they're going to take a walk around the lake to admire the colorful foliage and then get coffee, Bitty instead tugs him into the Health Services building.

"What's going on?"

"Time for an intervention."

What follows is one of the most awkward conversations in Jack's entire life, as Bitty's therapist guides them in a conversation that could have been titled "What Went Wrong and How Not to Screw Up Again." Turns out the answer is _not_ to swear off sex altogether, although Jack still tries to insist it was a foolproof solution.

"But it's not necessary, Jack," Bitty says, exasperated. "If you almost drowned once, would you move to the desert? Or would you learn how to swim?"

Jack has no counter argument for this. So their swimming lessons begin.

After many late night conversations, too many tears, and one more joint session with Bitty's therapist, Bitty sums it up, sitting cross-legged on Jack's bed one gloomy November afternoon.

"When I tell you I want something, you have to trust me. I promise, I'll be honest with you. But please, Jack, please. Trust me." They've been round and round on this point, and Jack suddenly sees that Bitty is exhausted. Jack's continued stubbornness is hurting them, even when he thought it was what would keep Bitty safe. 

He gathers Bitty up in a hug and holds him close. "Okay, yes. Yes." He can feel Bitty relax in his arms. "I'll trust you. I'll listen. I'm... I’m still scared, Bits. But I'll try."

Bitty shifts and beams up at him, then presses a firm kiss to his lips. "That's all I'll ever ask of you, sweetheart." He looks down, then back up, and smiles shyly. "Any chance we could give it a go tonight?"

"Tonight" turns into "now," and soon most of their clothes are in a messy pile next to Jack's bed. They lie on their sides in just their boxers, smiling goofily at each other.

"You're quite a sight," Bitty says, reaching out with one hand to touch Jack's chest. Bitty runs his fingers over Jack’s pecs and down his abs, and Jack shivers. Bitty slides closer and starts kissing him, pausing every so often to look at Jack and smile as he caresses him. 

Jack lets Bitty set the pace, slowly letting his hands explore Bitty's toned chest. When Bitty moves his hands to Jack's hips, Jack does the same to Bitty.

"Are we playing Simon Says?" Bitty teases, and then, grinning against Jack's cheek, takes a firm hold of Jack's ass and presses their bodies together. 

Jack can't help the low moan that escapes his lips at the feel of Bitty, even through their boxers. He's hard, as is Jack, and when Bitty starts to rock up against him, it feels fantastic. The angle isn't quite right, though, and it's a little rough. Jack knows what he wants to do next, but he hesitates, biting his lip, until Bitty pulls back and looks at him.

"Jack? What’s wrong?"

Jack pauses, not sure what to do, and then he dives in. "Can we take these off?" He's holding the waistband of Bitty's shorts, and gives them a little tug.

"Thought you'd never ask."

With them both blessedly naked, Jack takes a moment to just look. Bitty squirms a little, but then he sees something in Jack's gaze that lets him relax, and he strikes a pose, one knee bent. "Like what you see, Mr. Zimmermann?"

"Crisse, what you do to me." Jack latches on to Bitty's mouth in a searing kiss. A moment later, when he comes up for air, he wraps an arm around Bitty's waist and pulls until Bitty is positioned perfectly between Jack's legs. 

As he reaches for Bitty, he takes a few deep breaths, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But Bitty giggles at him, impatient, and takes Jack in hand. They fumble a bit, but soon Jack has his hand around them both, Bitty's hand sliding along, and Jack thinks he's going to explode with the sensations that course through him.

Bitty comes first with a surprised sounding shout; Jack follows moments after. Bitty makes a half-hearted effort to clean them up with the sheet, and then curls up on Jack's chest, hand on his shoulder and knee bent over his thigh.

"I love you, Jack. You know that, right? Never thought I could feel this way, not ever."

Jack hadn't known, though he had hoped – oh, how he had hoped. "Love you too, Bits. Love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please leave a comment! This anonymous thing is like shouting into the void - it would mean so much to me to hear from you. (And if you are writing a fic for the challenge let me know - although you can't tell me which one until later!)

**Author's Note:**

> Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://omgcpheartbreakfest.tumblr.com/) on the omgcpheartbreakfest tumblr page!


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